Organ Music and Gregorian Chant (1956)

[3] The problem of the relationship between organ music and liturgical chant is not a new one. It has presented itself since the earliest days when, through a unique privilege, the organ became an instrument of the Church and was given the role of functioning with the choir, bringing to the service of the divine cult the multitude of its voices and the variety of its tonal resources.

All musicians whose duties place them at an organ console have felt to a greater or lesser degree the grandeur and nobility of the role given to them in the course of the liturgical Offices, and they have made some very fine declarations of principle in this regard. In spite of the diversity of their temperaments, their musical educations and their esthetic tendencies, they all agree in declaring that the church organist should not play "during the Office, but play the Office itself" (Maurice Emmanuel), and that he should "become as closely united with the Office as possible by drawing for inspiration on pieces of plain-chant" (Marcel Dupres [sic]).

Regarding these principles, then, there are neither difficulties nor disagreements; we have a fine and unanimous viewpoint. When it comes to the practical working-out, however, it is quite another matter. Problems have a way of multiplying, and what a wide diversity there is in the manner of solving them! In itself this diversity is not wrong, but we must maintain that the whim and caprice of an individual cannot be suitable to the norm of a religious Office, the prime quality of which must be unity. No doubt these are complicated matters, and are very difficult to describe with exactitude. Yet they are all too real. Perhaps an analogy will help us to see this more clearly.

[4] Go to Chartres and stand before the western facade. The "new" tower will not shock you next to the "irreproachable spire" of the "old" tower. You will, moreover, appreciate its beauty without difficulty, because it will seem to you to be the logical development of the romanesque tower on which it is erected.

Then go into the Cathedral up to the vault of the choir and look about you. Immediately something is upset within you. The "embellishments" of the canons of the eighteenth century, and in particular the group of the Assumption of Bridan seem to be out-of-place in such a place. They do not match the style, proportions or grace of the incomparable sanctuary.

The organist is faced with problems similar to these. He must blend into this unified ensemble in such a way that his listeners, far from being caused to resent him, will, on the contrary, silently be grateful for his having been able to enhance the prayers and chants of the whole congregation.

To get a complete picture of the problem, we would be obliged to go back to the very origins of organ music. Then, following the passing of time, we should study the different solutions which Church organists have applied to the problem at hand. We would be obliged, in short, to undertake a history of organ music in its liturgical roles. This would be a wonderful and very useful work, but of vast proportions which would easily fill a huge volume. In these few pages we shall content ourselves with taking a characteristic example which will permit us to show the essential error to avoid, and in the same process to uncover the essential elements of a proper and satisfying solution.

In 1685 at Paris, Nicholas Gigault, organist at Holy Spirit and of the churches of Saint-Nicholas and Saint-Martin-des-Champs, published a Livre de Musique pour l'orgue which contained about 180 pieces, all intended for [5] service playing, grouped according to the eight church tones and written to a great extent on plain-chant melodies.

In the opening remarks to his readers, Gigault shows a constant care to conform to the needs and demands of divine worship. Not only does he write somewhat short pieces in order not to cause delays in the service, but he even takes care to plan for cuts, if they should be necessary. He goes into certain details of the intonations of the different tones and remarks that he has tried to conform to plain-chant, and particularly to the finals in order to give the intonations to the choir more clearly. Finally, the book is dedicated "to the Blessed Virgin". In this noble dedication is said, among other things, that the Magnificat "is the most beautiful of all the canticles . . . on which our art will be applied eternally without even the most beautiful sounds, or all the harmony of music being able to equal the least of its divine expressions". In closing, our organist asks the Blessed Virgin "to grant that his chants may please the heart even more than the ear, to raise the soul of those who hear them to You and to Your Son, and to give them an ardent desire to rise to Heaven to hear that ineffable Music which must be our eternal Joy".

Here we have a grouping of completely favorable dispositions which leads us to see Nicholas Gigault as a model liturgical organist. Of the 214 pages of his Organ Book, however, nothing has survived the wear of time. None of the pieces designed with such care could be used for a service. In spite of our good will, we are forced to admit that we rarely see such a contrast between the excellence of principles and the poverty of the result.

What could possibly be the cause of such misfortune? What is the basic error which would explain all the others? This basic lack seems to us to have been certainly not theoretical, but a practical understanding of the primacy and excellence of Gregorian chant, "rule and supreme model of all sacred music".

[6] Instead of listening obediently to the liturgical melody and let it create in him the sounds and rhythms which result naturally from its sonorous progression, he tried on the contrary, to impose on it from without a harmonic and rhythmic treatment which is foreign to its very structure. The mode is immediately converted through the alteration of the leading tones, to the modern major or its relative minor. The melody, deprived of its proper life, is cut up in pieces and presented in long note-values. These fragments are to serve in turn as themes of works of which the developments have no inner relationship with the mode and rhythm of the melody which has been so disfigured. When the organist is a mastery of polyphonic composition and has, moreover, a deeply religious soul, he can avoid the worst consequences, and can even write pieces which, in spite of certain concessions to the tastes of the day, remain true models of liturgical music. But when the organist, filled with theories learned in school, turns to dressing the chant in the present-day musical fashions, ornamenting it with "prunings and graftings" and setting it to "new movements", nothing remains of that perfection glimpsed in the heavens of high principle. Between liturgical chant and the organ-playing a chasm opens up, a contrast is established which is all the more to be deplored because it comes in the Liturgy, where all the elements which enter into the composition of a service should blend in a single goal and unite in a common adoration.

We could stop here and say that these criticisms hold true only for classical organists who knew Gregorian chant only in its decadent form, whereas we, better situated than our ancestors, now possess plain-chant restored to its proper melody and rhythm. It is indeed true that the restoration of Gregorian chant has caused a favorable reaction among organists, and that for the last fifty years attempts have been more and more numerous toward achievement of an organ music more and more respectful of the character and grace of the ancient modes. Nevertheless, without taking away anything from the generosity of motives and the quality of the efforts, we are obliged to recognize the fact that we have not yet succeeded in creating a truly "liturgical" [7] style of music which would adapt itself effortlessly to the letter and spirit of Gregorian chant.

We should add, too, that at the point of development to which we are led by the present evolution of harmony, the problem is becoming more and more difficult to solve, as the organists are finding themselves torn between their musical training, which has legitimately advanced with their times, and the demands of the liturgical service, in which Gregorian chant remains the determining element.

Must we, then, declare that the problem is insoluble? Must we admit that we have been passed by in the inevitable progress of musical development? We do not think so, and we are even naive enough to believe that at the cost of some sacrifice . . . no doubt difficult to make . . . a harmonious solution can be arrived at.

One of the greatest musicians of our own day will help us to discover the essential points.

In 1929 the magazine Musique made a survey among composers on the evolution of music and its most recent tendencies. Manuel de Falla gave a remarkable answer, some aspects of which seem very fitting to note at this time.

To the question: "What are your present tendencies?" Falla answered: "Toward an art as strong as it is simple, and in which egotism and vanity would be absent. But what a difficult goal to reach!" If such a directive seems fitting for the demands of the art considered in itself, how much more strongly should it be proposed for the musicians who have the honor and the responsibility to write works which are beautiful, not only from the purely musical point of view, but to a degree which would make them suitable to be introduced in the body of a liturgical service! This answer, in fact, seems to us to go to the root of the question. First of all light and order have to be established in ones [sic] [8] inner being. Before going into the purely technical problems, it is necessary to resolve a basic difficult of spiritual nature. All is pointless if the soul is not first freed of itself and ready to let itself be drawn and influenced by "the pure musical substance" of Gregorian melody, separated from any arbitrary circumstance or outer superposition.

To devote oneself in this way to the discipline of plain-chant in no way implies a servile imitation, but rather a reasonable exploitation of its inexhaustible resources, creating "a music in which the eternal laws of rhythm and tonality, — intimately linked, — may be conscientiously observed."

Such a style thus presupposes:

1) Deliberate exclusion of "capricious dogmas which often become in art the worst enemies of the true and intangible dogmas" (merely think of the tyranny of C major, the down-beat, the square measure, the forbidden intervals, etc.).

2) A decided preference for free and supple rhythms, for innumerable combinations, based nevertheless on a basic value, maintained as a principle of order and unity.

3) And for a polyphony which will be both strict and bold, in which the various parts pursue their courses with a logic rigorous to the degree of its leading to a firmly established close . . . for a polyphony conceived as the blossoming of a harmony based on the natural resonance of the Gregorian modes.

What should be avoided above all are these attempted compromises between ancient modality and modern harmonic systems. Neither chromaticism nor atonality can blend with it. It is, therefore, salutory that organists are learning more and more to give up these impossible matings in preference for the reasonable and conscientious exploration of the "sonorous spaces" created by the simple flow of a plainsong melody. No doubt the Gregorian modes are diatonic in their [9] essence, but freed from the constraints of classical tonality, they imply in their resonance a whole train of harmonic groupings, bold and new. It is for each composer, according to the quality of his "antennas", to grasp their many vibrations.

We can see now in what sense we must talk of a return to the ancient melody of the Church. There can be no question of a regression, — impossible, in fact, — to a dull and soulless pastiche "of a form of art perfect of its type" (Dom Mocquereau). Not so many exercises on the chant; let there be instead a ceasely [sic] renewed "invention", more sure and certain in its discoveries to the extent that it never ceases to seek the elements of its inspiration in the same basic source. The [sic] presupposes, in fact, that Gregorian chant is the very basis of any musical training. It is, moreover, no longer a question of devoting only a few pages to the study of the ancient modes for those students who have a penchant for "archaicism" or "mysticism", [sic] On the contrary, it is time to give them first rank in the studies of counterpoint and harmony, which would then become complete treatises of modal polyphony.

Obviously we must add another condition, also very essential: talent, or even genius. God has not, however, ever refused this "gift" in the course of the long history of sacred music. Our epoque [sic] does not lack in fine talents, artists avid in serving and enriching divine worship. May they in this pathway discover, for the glory of God and our joy, ancient and new splendors.

Perhaps it is not amiss to state that these few reflections contain no hidden implications. They are intended simply as considerations in itself and for itself of a problem which is commanding more and more attention from all those who have at heart the dignity and perfection of the divine service.

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Source: Dom Antoine Bonnet, "Organ Music and Gregorian Chant," The Gregorian Review 3, no. 2 (March-April 1956): 3–9.